


Never Let Me Go

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Angst, F/M, Mild Language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: Hermione filled the gaping hole Ron left in her life with work, and for a while, it seemed enough. But one night, long after the shop closed, when she was too tired to sleep and unwilling to crawl into an empty bed, Hermione was overcome with such a terrible longing – an emptiness resonating within her heart and soul – that she unconsciously began collecting jars from the stark white shelves behind her and from her storeroom, adding them into a simmering cauldron.





	Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> Genre(s): Angst, Romance.  
> Warning(s): Mild Profanity, Yew List: Adultery.  
> Timeline: Post-DH  
> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> Story Notes: Written for the 2012 Dramione-Duet challenge. Dear Recipient, I hope you like this!  
> Beta(s): McCargi

Hermione Granger had an exceptionally normal life, which is exactly what she wished to have following the Second Wizarding War. Despite the numerous and quite generous offers from practically every direction, most notably from both Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Ministry of Magic, Hermione chose her own career path and followed where her heart lead her. So, ten years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, after her entire world had been set to rights after near annihilation, she was happily employed in her own apothecary snuggled in the middle of Hogsmeade. 

It wasn’t a grandiose shop, but did fairly well; especially being within the vicinity of the school, predominantly serving the needs of the professors and students during the school year, and making do during the summer months. Hermione could hardly want for money, however, which made the experience of running her own shop much more pleasant and less stressful than she expected. Although she had received top marks in so many subjects and could very well have had any profession she could possibly have dreamed of, she found the apothecary to be precisely best for her – the complex concoctions she made from scratch, the repetition of potion making, the invigorating smells that wafted from various cauldrons all hours of the day and night. 

Hermione was quite satisfied with how her professional life had turned out. However, her personal life remained lacking, to a degree. 

Things just weren’t as wonderful as both she and Ron Weasley had expected them to be, them as a couple that is. Of course, everything seemed lovely in the beginning and the world was awakening with new hope and elation, just as they were feeling about each other. Such feelings rarely survive in the real world, however; and Hermione felt it long before Ron did, which made it rather difficult to continue living the way they had been. As expected, Ron did not take the break up well at all. He moved out of their flat quickly, practically the same night she ended things, and almost immediately took up with none other than Lavender Brown. Hermione tried to be an adult in the situation, to not believe that Ron purposefully chose the one girl, one woman, for whom Hermione held the most contempt, but it was damn near impossible.

At least Ron had the good sense to not lurk about her shop. Or perhaps he was still reeling and had no desire whatsoever to see her ever again, which would explain the numerous times that she had joined their friends, Harry and Ginny, Neville, Luna and Dean for dinner or drinks and noticed Ron’s conspicuous absence. Well, they were both adults now. He would have to grow up and move on, as he so desperately attempted to prove he was doing by going about with such a slag. In any case, what he did with his life was no longer any concern of hers, just as her choices were none of his. 

Hermione filled the gaping hole Ron left in her life with work, and for a while, it seemed enough.

But one night, long after the shop closed, when she was too tired to sleep and unwilling to crawl into an empty bed, Hermione was overcome with such a terrible longing – an emptiness resonating within her heart and soul – that she unconsciously began collecting jars from the stark white shelves behind her and from her storeroom, adding them mindlessly into a simmering cauldron. The stars were winking in the inky sky through her front windows as her fingers moved of their own accord, her mind lost in the past, thinking about Ron and the good times they once had, in the beginning, followed by when things began to sour. She remembered how lonely she often was, even when she was with him and she ought to have been happy.

The cauldron began to gurgle and turn a shade of pink as she slowly stirred it clockwise, unaware of her own actions, brooding over her lack of affection. Oh sure, she had her friends who loved her dearly and she them, and of course, there were her parents, who had remained in Australia following the war, whom she rarely saw anymore. Nevertheless, there remained a glaring hole in her heart, one that could not be filled with work or friends or even the latest account of Wizarding politics and history. The potion simmered, emitting soft tendrils of lavender smoke that curled upwards, wafting around Hermione’s oblivious head. 

Where was the romance? Where was the dashing young prince to sweep her off her feet in a whirlwind fairy tale of passion and desire? He was sensibly contained to the pages of her books, never within reality because such a person could never exist in the world. There had never been such a person, and never could be, not for Hermione Granger, she knew. The pink potion darkened to a subtle indigo and thickened, waiting. With a sigh, Hermione slowly walked over to the far shelf, retrieved a jar without a glance, and then returned to her cauldron, adding a few shakes of the white powder, sighing once more. The cauldron nearly bubbled over the sides, but she stirred it back to complacency, anticlockwise twice, and then reversed for three more turns, and the indigo colour reappeared and seemed to settle.

Hermione swiped her finger along the inside, coating the pad with the blue concoction and sucked her finger clean, completely ignorant of the sweetness on her tongue. Instead, she was preoccupied with the notion of finding the perfect man and believing he would never darken her doorstep.

Hermione released a heavy sigh, waved her hand over the cauldron and it was immediately spick and span clean once more. She motioned for the shop lights to turn off as she locked up and went upstairs to her quarters above the apothecary.

***

The bell over the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of a new customer. Hermione was behind the counter levitating a jar of shrivelfigs from off the highest shelf. “Good afternoon!” she called over her shoulder. The woman sniffed impatiently so Hermione quickly snatched the jar and set it down with her wand, wiping her hands on the thighs of her slacks. Her usual attire for the apothecary was comfortable: jeans or slacks, a button-down shirt usually, beneath a starched set of white heavy cotton robes.

The woman’s attire, however, made Hermione feel as though she were dressed in rags. She wore a fine set of silk robes in hunter green, and her shiny blonde hair was cut so sharply, Hermione wasn’t sure if it wasn’t sharper than her tongue used to be. She also noted that Pansy Parkinson, despite her wealth, had not fixed her smug, pug nose, to her surprise. 

“Pansy,” she greeted her former classmate courteously.

“ _Ms. Parkinson_ , if you will,” she corrected her, lifting said nose a little higher. Hermione fought against a smirk and instead asked how she might assist the arrogant witch. “I seriously doubt you could,” she said slowly, waltzing through the store, running her gloved finger along the counters as though inspecting for dust. Hermione allowed her to do as she pleased, knowing there was no sense in reacting. 

“Yes, I had heard there was an apothecary back in Hogsmeade finally, but no one said anything about it being run by a Mud-”

The bell tinkled again and both their heads turned to see the new customer. Hermione shouldn’t have been surprised, because wherever Pansy Parkinson slithered, Draco Malfoy was sure to be close by. He stood in the open doorway, obviously surprised by their full attention. His gaze remained on Hermione a few seconds longer than it had on his former girlfriend, which made Hermione instinctively increase her guard. This wasn’t going to be pleasant at all.

Pansy sauntered over to Malfoy, threading her arm through the crook of his elbow when he finally release the door and stepped inside. He offered her a perfunctory smile and a pat, and then looked back up at Hermione. Unlike the witch, he did not have a quick barb prepared for her, it seemed. “Granger,” he nodded at her as he approached the counter. His eyes danced about the store, attempting to take it all in. Pansy’s arm slipped from its place as he reached within his robes, retrieving a shopping list, which he handed over to Hermione. She accepted it without a word, her eyes running down the requests quickly and began gathering the items.

Pansy took Malfoy’s hand, leading him to the opposite side, and began not-so-quietly chastising him for leaving her on her own on the street, followed by ridicule of Hermione’s apothecary. Hermione’s hackles rose in offense, but she did her best to ignore her. They were customers, nothing more, and the sooner she filled their order, the sooner she would never have to see them again.

Unfortunately, Pansy had other ideas. 

“So, I suppose you didn’t marry that blood traitor after all, did you, Granger?” she taunted. Hermione kept her mouth shut but added a bit of speed to her searching fingers. “Such a pity. It really is too bad for you; he was doubtlessly the best offer a Mudblood like you could have ever hoped for, right Drakie?” Pansy sniggered.

She nearly had everything on the list in a basket by then, so she checked it a final time and wanted to gag. In Malfoy’s neat script was contraceptive potion with aphrodisiac. The idea of them… doing it… was so repugnant that she hardly enjoyed herself when she informed Malfoy that her store did not supply the last requested item. Perhaps it was the lighting in the store, but she could have sworn Draco Malfoy was blushing. He seemed agitated as he retrieved his coin purse and laid down the necessary coins without a word to her. 

“Come, Pansy,” he quietly said as he snatched the parcel from Hermione’s outstretched hand and hurried out of the store, while Pansy continued to mock everything. “Sticks out a like a sore thumb, all this blinding white! Couldn’t she have even decorated in the traditional -”

Hermione huffed out her frustrations and counted to ten, hoping that was the last she’d ever have to see of that horrible couple.

***

Later that same day, while Hermione was enjoying a quick chat with a heavily pregnant Ginny Potter and little James, an owl arrived. Without breaking the conversation, Hermione found a treat to exchange for the letter the bird proffered. When her best girl friend stopped to fuss at James, who had snuck into the back room, she opened the letter.

 _Dear Hermione,_ the letter began. _You never could have suspected, but I have longed to run my fingers through your auburn curls for years. I want to hold them up to my face, breathe in their warm wheat scent, breathe you into me. Oh, how I wish you were my darling._

It was unsigned. 

Hermione felt her cheeks burning and was too slow to hide the letter when Ginny returned. The younger woman easily snatched the letter from her clutching hands and read it, her eyes growing wider with every word. “You’ve kept this quiet, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me you had a sweetheart?”

“I don’t, I mean -” Hermione stumbled over her words, one hand fisted against her pounding heart. She glanced about the store, eyeing the few customers, none of which even noticed them as their heads bent close together over the letter. 

“Who is he?”

“I have no idea!”

“What? You mean, it’s a secret admirer? How exciting!” Ginny gushed and they both smiled. Over the next several minutes, they guessed back and forth who the author of the love letter could be, each one attempting to out-do the other with a shocking suggestion. However, their fun ended abruptly when James became sick all over the floor, having swallowed something he shouldn’t have. Ginny profusely apologized and tried to mop the mess up, but Hermione managed the task first. 

That night, when the shop closed for the night, she retrieved the letter and read it once more, her heart speeding up with the notions Ginny had planted in her head.

***

Bright and early a few days later, a tapping at her bedroom window awoke Hermione. An owl with another letter attached to his leg. Her heart zinged and she mentally chastised herself as she approached the window. It most likely wasn’t the same owl, or even from the same person. Anybody could have sent her a letter, she reasoned. But the moment she unfolded the parchment, she knew it was from her admirer. This letter, however, was longer and more detailed about intimate things its author wished to do with her, to her. The blush remained on her cheeks for most of the day, and when it had finally faded, another letter arrived.

A week went by and Hermione had received four letters, each one more provocative than the last. She kept them with her at all times, in the pocket of her robes in the shop, or in her jeans when in her flat. She was rereading the latest one when the bell over her door tinkled. Caught and ashamed, she carelessly shoved the well-worn parchment back into her pocket and spun about to greet her customer. 

Unfortunately, it was Draco Malfoy. Hermione rolled her eyes at such a misfortune and then pasted a false smile in place. They were the only ones in the shop, she noticed as he looked about, drawing her attention to the fact. 

“Good afternoon, Malfoy.”

“Granger,” he nodded, offering a smile so quickly, she blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a fretful look. His hands were folded behind his back as he lurked, casting his eyes upon random jars and vials of herbs. Hermione waited impatiently, her finger rubbing the soft corner of the letter. 

As he continued to browse, she studied him. He was just as pale and pointy as when they were in school, but his hair was longer now, down to his shoulders, certainly the influence of his father. Surprisingly, she found it rather attractive on him. He wasn’t boyishly good looking like Harry, nor was he as affable as Ron was, but there was definitely something striking about Draco Malfoy, unfortunately. Why was it that the roguishly handsome men were such… rogues? 

Although she never thought about the Malfoys, she was well aware of their lucky break after the war. Thanks to Harry’s testimony, and a most generous reparation, the three were acquitted of all charges. She tried to forgive the family, but found it too difficult where Lucius Malfoy was concerned. In her opinion, they made several bad choices and ought to repay society much more than with the coins of their vaults. Honestly, if she never had to see another Malfoy in her life, she’d be pleased as punch.

Another customer entered then and Hermione’s bright smile reappeared as she helped the older gentleman. Malfoy stayed back, obviously watching them as she filled his order. When they began to banter pleasantly, he moved closer and interrupted them. “I believe I was here first, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione balked at the rudeness, apologizing to her customer, who was equally baffled by the disruption. Malfoy pushed a slip of paper pinched between two fingers towards her, demanding that she assist him. Instead, Hermione ignored him and completed her transaction with the second gentleman, even going so far as to walk him out. When the door was shut, she spun about, glaring at Malfoy, who was smirking. 

She held her tongue, but her mind swam with a multitude of insults and barbs she wanted to fling at his arrogant face. She marched past him, snatching the parchment out of his grasp and glanced over the requested item. “Puffapod?” Why on earth would he want flowers? With a shake of her head, she stomped towards the storeroom, muttering over her shoulder that she kept them out of direct sunlight until they were needed. To her dismay, Malfoy followed her.

Only few candles burned throughout the storeroom, making it sometimes difficult to read the faded labels on the boxes. She withdrew her wand, mumbled, “Lumos,” and proceeded to find his precious puffapods, because the sooner she was rid of him, the happier she’d be. 

“I don’t suppose you received my owl,” Malfoy asked quietly. Hermione was preoccupied with a box and didn’t immediately answer him. Quite often, the shop received requests by owl, but she couldn’t recall ever receiving one from him. In fact, as memory served, he had only been in the shop once before, with his pug fiancée, but that wasn’t the only time she’d seen him. Come to think of it, hadn’t Malfoy recently spent an inordinate amount of time in Hogsmeade, she wondered, ever since that first miserable encounter? He wasn’t teaching at the school, she was positive, because Headmistress McGonagall would have told her during one of their occasional visits. Surely if he were shopping for his bride, he would have better choices in Diagon Alley, or, better yet, abroad – far, far away. 

Hermione snorted, and then declared, “Got it!” Shoving her wand, tip out, behind her ear, she tore open the box of puffapods but was startled as Malfoy’s hands clenched her upper arms, spinning her around to face him. Half the box scattered across the floor, the pods erupting into flowers on impact. She barely had time to think, What a mess!, as Malfoy crushed his lips against hers.

It took nearly ten seconds for her brain to override her body and shove him back. Malfoy went, reluctantly, his hands reaching up to pet her hair, her cheeks. She disentangled herself from him frantically. “Are you insane?! Get your hands off me, Malfoy! For Merlin’s sake –!”

“Have you any idea how long I’ve waited to do that? To kiss you, to hold you?” He stepped closer to Hermione, whose mouth was slack in utter shock. Malfoy panted, his hot breath too close to her as his questing fingers found her, roughly pulling her against him again. He bent to kiss her neck while his hands roamed down her back, caressing her through her starched robes. When he squeezed her bum, Hermione jumped further into his embrace. Of their own accord, her fingers buried themselves within his long, blond hair, scratching at his scalp. Damn, it felt so good to be held, caressed like this! 

His warm mouth suckled the tender skin beneath her ear and Hermione literally felt her knees give out. He was quick to catch her, to lift her up onto the nearest supply box. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, to think. This was Draco sodding Malfoy, the biggest, most prejudiced git she had ever known. He was also quite possibly the best damned snogger in the entire world. Hermione moaned when his lips returned to hers, sucking her tongue into his mouth. He stood between her spread thighs, pressing his hardness up against her. Two thoughts exploded together in that instant: the first, that there was entirely too much clothing between them; the second, that she oughtn’t to be doing this. 

Hermione shoved him away forcefully. Both were panting and quite dishevelled. His face was flushed, and his eyes were wild. A warm churning stirred in Hermione’s lower belly and she really had to resist reaching for him. Self-consciously, she closed her legs and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What just happened?” she asked no one in particular.

Malfoy smoothed his own hair back and then asked in a quiet, unsure voice, “Did you not receive my owls?”

She stared at him, her head beginning to shake, before realization dawned on her. The letters were from…him? No, they couldn’t have been. She took a moment to consider the implications of everything and he took the same moment to nuzzle her neck again. Her fingers threaded themselves in his hair, guiding him to a better spot, where she felt him smile against her sensitive skin as she continued to think things through. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” he breathed. “You smell like cherries and parchment…your skin’s as soft as feathers.”

Her fingers tightened in his hair, yanking him back painfully. He yowled, but she didn’t release him. “What game are you playing? Is this how you amuse yourself, riling up a Mudblood? Where’s your fiancée – surely she’ll want in on the joke.”

Malfoy grimaced at the pain and muttered between clenched teeth, “Pansy’s a twit with as much sex appeal as a broomstick. Will you,” he sucked air through his teeth, “let me go, Hermione? Please?”

She thrust him away from her, jumping down from the crushed box of dried sneezewort. She dusted her hands off and tried to scurry away from him, but he quickly seized her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. She struggled in his grasp, resorting to pinching to free herself. 

“This is no joke! How could I possibly want that pug-faced half-wit, when I could have you? You’re full of passion and fire – a real hellcat, I’d imagine, in the sack!”

“ _Have_ me?! You’re twisted, Malfoy -”

“Call me Draco,” he urged as she slipped away. “I’ve always found your impertinence to simply be you’re your method of flirtation.”

After a thought, Hermione found she couldn’t completely deny that, but still. “I’ve no idea what’s wrong with you, but I don’t appreciate being manhandled like this in my own shop!”

“Then let’s go upstairs? I want to taste every inch of you-”

“-Obviously need a Healer! Get off of _me_!” she squealed. 

They had made it to the front door when he trapped her, his arms pressing against the frame, preventing her escape. She faced him and nearly melted from his lecherous gaze. She tried to reason with him, using a soothing voice reserved for children and maniacs. “Listen, Draco… have you hit your head recently? Perhaps ingested a Befuddlement potion?” He slowly shook his head, inching closer, smelling her hair, flipping the ‘open’ sign around, and turning the lock. “Then what’s going on here? Stop it! No, what? Oh! Why are you playing with me?”

Malfoy chuckled. “I know a game we’d both enjoy, Hermione.” He placed her hand against his erection and her heart sped up. Slowly, he bent to kiss her. Her mind reeled. Surely, this wasn’t happening to her. She had to have dozed off for a bit, and this was all some gross fantasy. Oh, but what of it? It felt entirely too nice not to let him keep going, and so she acquiesced. His body pressed fully against her, pushing her into the door. His hands curved behind her back, reaching up to cover her shoulders. Eventually, she had to break free to breathe. When had her hands wound back into his hair? Malfoy’s had drifted from her shoulders back to her bum, half-carrying her away from the door. Her legs wrapped around his waist, kissing him back so fiercely that it was his turn to moan. 

With a flick of her hand, the lights of the shop went out and took with them her better judgment.

***

Days turned into weeks. Summer faded into autumn, whipping students through the streets of Hogsmeade like fallen leaves. Hermione now had a drawer full of love letters from Draco, arriving approximately every three days, if not sooner. Their tryst was more habit forming than the cigarettes he smoked afterwards but never in her bed. She refused to meet him anywhere but at her place, fearing discovery. It was an unspoken agreement between them. And if the deliciously wicked things Draco whispered to her every time they were alone were any indication, then he must not have objected to the set-up. Mostly she was concerned with how her friends would react, should they be seen together. Ginny was already suspicious, demanding to know why the letters had stopped arriving and why she never tried to identify their author.

Hermione was terrible at lying. But this… whatever it was she had with Draco, she wasn’t ready to give it up, and when, not if, they were discovered, she knew it would dissolve faster than a soap bubble. 

Making love to Draco made her feel alive, desirable, in a way no other man ever had. He was still very arrogant and prejudiced, though, which funnily enough assured her that everything was all right. They still fought almost as badly as when they were in school. Whenever their arguments turned in her favour and he started to call her a disparaging name, she would slap his face and put an end to it. Sometimes she thought he picked fights intentionally, the demented idiot. 

They never mentioned Pansy, not even when the Malfoy-Parkinson wedding announcement appeared in the Daily Prophet. Somehow, that issue wound up singed in the middle.

On the accidental, but suspiciously frequent, occasions that their paths crossed and neither was alone, Hermione struggled not to hold her breath, expecting, even hoping, that Draco would demonstrate some possessiveness. It was mental, of course, but it happened all the same. She wasn’t above provoking him, either, laughing extra loud whenever Harry made a joke, or even flirting with George Weasley during one of his occasional visits.

Naturally, Draco was not to be outdone, but she did her best to ignore him and Pansy whenever she saw them. About a week ago, Draco made a big to-do about snogging that snotty witch within plain sight, but Hermione was completely oblivious to the excessive display. At least, as far as he was concerned, she was. Either way, when Draco returned to her, his jealousy controlled him and he was determined to prove that she belonged to him. Hermione loved those nights and afternoons most of all.

***

“You can’t be serious!” The Lo Mein slipped through her chopstick grip as she gaped at him. “You did not just call one of my good friends -”

“You certainly have colourful individuals in your life, if you count Looney Lovegood as a _good friend_.” She flung the few remaining noodles at his face and they hit with a wet smack. “Oh, you better run, Granger!”

***

“You’re like your many vials, Hermione: languishing away upon the shelf, growing less and less potent with every passing night where you are not brought forth, letting loose all the power you keep in check within your tightly-sealed bottle. You ought to thank Merlin I came along, darling.”

“Do shut up,” she muttered, smirking down where he lay between her thighs. Hermione began to purr just like a Kneazle.

***

“What did you say?”

“I said, you should thank your lucky stars you can count me among your friends, or else you’d be rather pathetic.” He began ticking his fingers off. “There’s the scarred one, that lunatic girl, Longbottom, who I am absolutely certain is a poof, an over-abundance of gingers, one of which was entirely beneath you, yet you still went to bed with him. Honestly, love, you’ve really traded up. There’s no need for you to tell me how thankful you are; I know.”

“I think there might be a compliment somewhere in there, buried below your ego.” She tapped her fingers against her lips in thought, but Draco ignored her. “And really, you have no room to talk, considering the dunderheads you call friends.”

“Hold up a second there,” he jumped in, pointing his finger directly at her. “You Gryffindors never learned the true value of minions.”

She stared back at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. Draco was trying to hold back his own smile as he proceeded to argue that having Crabbe and Goyle as his henchmen during school was a strategic move. She begged him to stop, using kisses to entice him. Soon, she won him over.

***

One morning at the market, Hermione overheard a gaggle of witches, none of which she personally knew, discussing Draco’s impending wedding. Honestly, she didn’t want to eavesdrop, but they made it so easy, and she discovered a masochistic side to her psyche. They were all a-flutter over the rumours surrounding Pansy’s robes, of where they intended to live, and then they cooed over the prospect of how beautiful their children surely would be.

Hermione felt a sharp pain in her chest.

She might have been deliberately deluding herself with Draco, but she wasn’t vindictive, or truly stupid. She knew they were getting married, but she gave in to him anyway; gave into her own desires that he brought out in tremendous force like no other had previously. She was selfish, is what, and shame poured over her like ice-cold water.

During Draco’s next visit, she refused to yield to his very persuasive attentions. After some time, he grew irritable. Draco’s temper was nearly as terrible as her own, but she wasn’t concerned about it at all. When he questioned what was wrong with her, she bit her tongue, unsure where even to begin, teetering between blame and guilt. At last, she took a deep breath and let it out.

“It has to end, what’s going on between us,” she indicated, swishing her finger between the two to them. “It’s over.” Her eyes never wavered from his as she spoke, so she saw the array of emotions flicker across his, from uncertainty to incredulity, and finally denial. She shirked off his attempts to touch her, muttering under her breath. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, staring down at the floor. This was not the best spot to stand, because he would soon storm past her and would inevitably brush against her. Perhaps that’s why she chose it.

When more than enough time for Draco to do as she expected had gone by, she glanced up and found him watching her expectantly. Then he began to laugh. Hermione glared at him, her fingers digging into her palms. 

“I’m perfectly serious,” she yelled. “I can’t stand the guilt and the sneaking around anymore!”

“The sneaking around you insisted upon, as I recall.” Draco mockingly placed his finger against his lips in imitation of thought. If her wand were handy, she would have hexed his bollocks to bits. Instead, she jumped from the doorway and began to straighten items on her dresser, pick up discarded clothes, anything to occupy her hands and stay out of Azkaban. Draco wisely kept silent as she slammed around, then asked, “Don’t you want to be with me, Hermione?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with anything! What we’re doing is shameful. It’s adultery.”

He scoffed, infuriating her further. “Answer my question: Do you want me?”

“Yes, it initially was my idea to keep this… _affair_ ,” she said in a hushed voice, avoiding his question directly,] “secret. But it wasn’t just for my benefit. You are the one with a fiancée, after all. Obviously, we didn’t think this through, or else we wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

“You mean lovers?” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, barely containing his anger. However, Hermione ignored him, muttering to herself that she never believed herself capable of being _that_ woman. 

She shut her eyes, burying her hand in her hair, and said, “Look, we’ve both had our fun, but this has to stop. Now, before…” Her voice trailed off at the look he was giving her. How could he possibly look both cross and heartbroken simultaneously? The crease between his eyebrows was showing and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to rub it or punch it away. Then suddenly, it was gone, his face brightening.

“All right, finished? Good, because I have a solution. You’re obviously quite upset by the present circumstances, but honestly, there’s no reason to stop. What’s between us,” he said with a genuine smile, “is real.” Draco gently touched her shoulders, then her face, guiding her to look at him. Why did he have to make this so much harder?

“And what about her?”

“She never needs to know,” he answered with a smile, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks. “It’ll be our secret. Together, here, loving each other, just as we’ve been doing. Nothing has to change.”

Hermione jerked away. “We can’t continue to _pretend_ she doesn’t exist! You can’t have it both ways.”

“Have had so far,” he argued.

“I’m not your whore, Draco!”

He blinked at her, the smile dissolving. “I never said you were. It wouldn’t be like that,” he insisted. 

She scoffed. “Oh, really? Then how would it be? Enlighten me.”

Neither spoke for a long moment as they stared across the elephant that had been within them all along. After a deep breath, Draco said, “What did you expect to come of this? You knew Pansy and I -”

“Don’t you _dare_ say her name!”

Draco continued as though she’d never interrupted. “That _we_ were engaged before you ever let me into your knickers.”

“I guess I wasn’t thinking,” she flippantly replied.

“That’s a first! Alert the Prophet,” Draco growled, releasing his pent up anger. After a tense moment, he quietly said, “I have to marry Pansy. She’s a pureblood.”

“And I’ll be your Mudblood mistress, yes?”

“You don’t understand! It’s expected of me – by my rank, by my parents, of course -”

“Of _course_ ,” she mocked him, and then, after a moment, quietly asked, “Do you even care about me, Draco?”

“You know I do,” he replied without hesitation. He gave her a heartbroken look. “I told you so. But… I can’t marry you, Hermione.”

“Because of my blood.” 

He frowned at her, considering his next words. “If things had happened differently… if my betrothal hadn’t been arranged prior to Hogwarts… especially now, after… after everything that’s changed…” Draco huffed in exasperation. “It’s beyond my control – beyond either of our control! I want you, Hermione, more than you could ever begin to fathom. I ache for you, deep in my soul, every second and if I can’t have you the way we both want, we have to take what we can get. Let me love you…” His arms reached towards her but she moved out of reach.

“Don’t do this. Don’t say we’re through, just like that. Hermione. Let me love you tonight,” he whispered. “Tomorrow will take care of itself. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved – the way we both do. Forget about everything else; none of it exists. There is only this, only you and me.”

“No, Draco, it doesn’t work that way. Tomorrow always comes. What did you think would happen after you were married? Did you think you’d still come here, creep into my flat, and have sex with me as if nothing were different? You’re lying – to me, to yourself, and to her most of all. Have you thought about her, Draco? What happens when she discovers us? What happens when,” Hermione choked and tried again. “When you both want children?

“And what about me? Am I supposed to put my life on hold entirely, make myself available to you whenever it’s convenient for you? What about my life, the things I want to do, to have? You have no idea what I want from my life. All you’ve thought about is what you wanted, and now you want it both ways. Did you truly think that this could continue indefinitely? Don’t you see? Have you thought at all beyond tonight? How can any of us be happy living like that?”

Defeated, he stared down at the floor as she started to cry. He lifted his arms, but they fell back down, lifeless and empty. “Are you saying this was a mistake?” 

“No,” she replied automatically. “I don’t know – maybe. Maybe we were both…just…lonely” 

“Believe me, Granger, I’m not lonely!” His hackles were up and the implication was plain to see. Draco could be a real bastard when he chose, Hermione thought. Hermione furiously wiped at her eyes, glaring at her lover and wishing she had never laid eyes on him. 

Draco’s chin jutted out as his head tilted back. “Go on, then, say it! Say what we both know you’ve been dying to say ever since this charade began!”

“What? What?” She glared at him, her temper rising to match his.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Go on; tell me how awful I am, that I’m Death Eater scum, that I deserved -”

Hermione scoffed, waving her hand between them as if clearing away smoke. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Do you honestly think that I would have slept with you if any of that still mattered?”

“Of course it matters! That’s why you’ve kept us hidden from your friends!”

“No! No, it’s not, and you know perfectly damn well why. _You_ are the one engaged,” she accused, her finger jabbing his chest. “You started this affair and you are the one who needed it to be secret, or else mummy and daddy would deny you all your precious galleons and riches and whatever else your lot has stashed away.”

He slapped her hand away and spat, “You had just as much to lose from this as I did. What would your precious friends think of the venerable Hermione Granger, sullying herself with a degenerate like me? You’re ashamed of us.”

“Of course I am! We’re committing adultery, Draco! We’re having a lurid affair behind the backs of everyone we know, and it’s all your doing. You started this, but now I’m ending it.” Hermione sniffed, and she knew she would lose all control any moment. “It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco blanched, as if she had literally punched him in the gut. No matter how much this hurt them both, and she was certain he was hurting, perhaps not as greatly as she was, it was the right thing to do. She should have never let this happen between them. Hermione was drowning in guilt. 

When he made no move to leave, she Accio’d her coat and marched downstairs, slamming the shop door behind her. The glass pane in the door cracked in her wake. 

“You’d better be gone when I return, Draco Malfoy,” she muttered under her breath as she stomped up the road to the Hogshead. Perhaps it was cliché, but nothing but a great deal of whisky would help her keep her pride and morals, as well as keep her out of his arms tonight.

***

The doors of the apothecary remained firmly shut over the next five days, despite the numerous customers who knocked all day long, and the owls that incessantly tapped at every window upstairs and down. She disabled her Floo to prevent her concerned friends from interrupting her despair. She charmed her wireless to play nothing but American blues.

Hermione found a forgotten pack of Draco’s cigarettes and she smoked them one after another, crying, wallowing in self-pity. Her hands shook as she lit up each one, remembering how Draco would fling his lighter open and take a deep pull, closing his heavy gravy eyes as he exhaled. His body would slowly relax, beginning with his neck and shoulders, the tension easing out of his muscles as he smoked. 

She smoked so much, her head hurt, but it was nothing compared to her heart. On the third day, she burned his love letters one after another.

Her shop and flat were haunted by his memory. In every corner she looked, there he was, smirking, sometimes dancing. His voice echoed in the shell of her ear, remembered whispers of things he wanted to do to her, with her; all his fantasies previously restricted to the parchment that made her desire roil into a devastating inferno, even now. 

Hermione blacked out the shop windows and spent many hours concocting potions by memory, only to Vanish them once she lost interest. Anything to pass the time until he was married and forgotten. Only the nightmare of spell damage kept her from Obliviating herself. An hour was spent scavenging through her storeroom, hoping to find a long-forgotten Pensieve to which she could remove his memory and salvage what remained of her heart, but it was no use. She would never be free of Draco Malfoy. 

She had no idea just how much of her life he had secured himself into until the gaping holes left by his absence were staring her down. How had that happened? Before Draco Malfoy, her life had been happy, full, filled with friends, family, work, and books. How had he made such big spaces for himself among all of those things? She reckoned she had done that, made room for him here and there, by neglecting her loved ones. It was true, she had spent less time with Harry and Ginny since taking up with him, but it never occurred to her while she was doing it. Now it was all glaringly obvious and a bit pathetic to her.

The day they were to be married, she never left her bed, buried so deeply under the covers that she hoped she might suffocate. She berated herself often between bouts of anger and tears. She wasn’t the kind of woman to brood over a man. She was smarter than that, dammit! It was completely illogical and banal, something prissy girls like Lavender Brown did, not Hermione Granger. Yet, her heart wouldn’t listen to better sense.

***

Two days later, when she couldn’t help but imagine the pair of newlyweds on their honeymoon in Italy, her flat was absolutely stifling and she decided she was safe enough to run down to the Hogshead for a whisky or four. Hermione shimmied out of her pyjamas and into the nearest clothes, uncaring how she looked, and shuffled downstairs.

The dim light that snuck past the boarded up windows made the apothecary dreary. Perhaps she ought to sell it, move away, far, far away. Start over somewhere new. Her parents were always telling her how much they loved Australia.

She ran her finger down the crack in the glass, reminded of the crease between his brows. She shook the memory away. The bell above the door tinkled louder than the creaking hinges when she pulled it open. Hermione glared at the happy little noise and jumped up and down, snatching at the blasted thing until, at last, she managed to yank it loose. She threw it out the door and followed after. She barely took a step outside before her heart stopped. Curled up on her stoop, bedraggled and haggard, was Draco, his usually dapper robes looking worse for wear. Her heart lurched inside her chest as he scrambled to his feet.

She tried to make a run for it, but he stopped her with a quiet, “Please, don’t.” 

She stopped, her back towards him. Her pride and better sense wouldn’t let her turn around. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Why wasn’t he gallivanting about with that uppity witch of a wife? She glanced nervously around, keeping her head bowed. Perhaps she was waiting for him, down the street, or in an elegant suite somewhere, popping bon-bons into her overly made up mouth. Hermione began to tremble. How could she let him reduce her to this? She was a Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake! She was an intelligent, independent woman, perfectly capable of ending a sordid affair and moving on with her life.

Well, at least some of that was true. 

She fingered her wand in her pocket, considering Apparating out of this painful scenario, but she couldn’t. That was too cowardly, and wouldn’t accomplish anything, anyway. Hermione wished she could pack ice around her heart and be done with this mess once and for all. Why did he have to come back here to torture her like this?

Slowly, still wanting to run, she faced him, looking at him through her fringe. He really looked dreadful, almost as bad as she felt. There were dark circles beneath his grey, blood-shot eyes. Her heart twisted and her feet swayed slightly. Suddenly, she was very aware of how ugly she must appear, not having brushed her hair for days. At least her teeth were clean. 

“What do you want?” she quietly asked, her voice rough and cracking at the last. Hermione sniffed. She wished she’d grabbed her coat to hide her quivering. 

“Why haven’t you answered any of my owls?” he accused, resettling his feet. All she could do was stare, open-mouthed. Draco took full advantage of the moment and laid into her. “Not a word, for days. You’re not the only one hurting here, Granger. Did what we had… was what we were really all that distasteful to you that you’d throw me away?”

Hermione found her voice. “How dare you? How dare you come here and throw all of that in my face as though it was all my doing?”

“It _was_ all your doing!”

“No! No, you’re the one who was getting married, Malfoy! You were the one playing both sides, having your fill of two witches. You were the unfaithful one,” she spat. “I was just… a fool to believe that…to have fallen for a man promised to another.” She caught her breath and stepped back. When had they moved so close together? Her fist unclenched and she tugged on her own sloppy hair. Hot tears burned behind her eyes and she fought against them. She’d cried enough over Draco Malfoy, and she wasn’t about to let him see. “Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Like you have?” he challenged. His nostrils were flaring.

“Yes, I have, thank you,” she lied smoothly.

“Liar. You can’t deny that what we had was wonderful. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I won’t give it up. Not for them, or _her_. Not even for you. If you’re so obtuse as to not realize that, then…”

Draco sighed, looking down. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then why did you come?”

He glared at her for a moment, obviously considering and rejecting a number of retorts. She thought she was prepared for all of them, except the one he uttered. “Because I can’t live without you, Hermione. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I… I called it off. Told Pansy to piss off, and my parents, as well. I’ve been here, trying to reach you, for days now. Number of old sods giving me looks, acting like I was some kind of…” He ran his hand through his greasy-looking hair, his mouth turning down.

“What?” Her heart thundered in her ears. “What did you…?”

Draco stilled, watching her. He must have seen something to give him hope, for he slowly crossed to her, his hand hesitantly reaching up to touch her cheek. Hermione was too shocked to stop him, and when she felt his cool palm against her heated face, the tears broke free. He gently rubbed them into her skin, moving even closer to whisper, “I’ve never loved another witch the way that I love you, Hermione.”

Hermione shook free, a sob escaping. She stepped back, making little circles in the road, muttering to herself. “I can’t. I can’t…” Too many thoughts and emotions overwhelmed her. He said he loved her, said he wasn’t married. Wasn’t that what she wanted, essentially? Yes, but what next? Just because you loved somebody didn't necessarily mean you were good for each other. Look how much damage they’d already endured? Wasn’t it better to just let all of it go and move on with their separate lives? 

She looked at Draco, who was silently, patiently waiting. It wasn’t like him, to let her decide. Her chest hurt as much as her head. None of this happened when she broke it off with Ron. She realized that that meant something. What she felt for Ron, as strong as it once was, was nothing more than teenage fascination. Yet with Draco, she realized, it had been real love, or else it wouldn’t hurt this much. Her heart was smarter than her head in this matter, and she had ignored it for too long.

“I never loved Pa-… her. Just you. It’s always been just you. And I’ll love you until I die. I can’t resist you, no matter how I try or how hard you push me away. And if you tell me that you don’t want me, that you don’t love me…” he choked, unable to finish.

Hermione swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “We both have such terrible tempers,” she offered, looking down at her own feet. Her socks didn’t match. “It’s a wonder we haven’t killed each other.” Draco made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. She wiped at her eyes before facing him. “I haven’t stopped. I can’t. I do want you, Draco. I’ve missed you so-”

Her voice was immediately muffled by his chest as Draco grabbed her, smashing her against his body and kissing her tenderly. They stood together, kissing and touching each other, for what felt like years, their bodies remembering how well they fit. Hermione sighed, relishing the moment and hoping that it would never end. Logically, she knew this was only the beginning; that there was still quite a bit they would have to overcome, like his parents, to begin with. But she also knew that now they were both willing to try, really try, to make this work, and that even though the odds weren’t stacked in their favour, they were finally in a place in their life where they at least had a real chance.

“Like I said, I didn’t come here to fight, love.”

“Well, you bollocksed that right up!” She laughed, wiping at her running nose. Draco smiled down at her, melting her heart even more than his words had. He reached for her and she moved willingly into his arms. It felt too good, being held like this. Hermione breathed him in and instantly wished she hadn’t. “Exactly how long have you been lurking on my step, Draco?” Her face wrinkled up in distaste.

He hugged her tighter, despite her protests. “What a pair we make, eh, Granger?” They stood that way, slightly rocking, for a long time, until Hermione pulled back to look up at him.

“Did you really give it all up for me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if I’d give up the family fortune for something as miserable as love. Of course, I came into my trust fund _years_ ago,” he said with a wink.


End file.
